The Golden Corset, page 22
"Hey, Mackenzie," I said, my hands on my hips.
"Hey, Gwen," she said. "Tired?"
"Girlfriend, you know it."
Mackenzie snickered. "So . . . are you going to the Summerfest dance tonight?"
"Oh yeah, that's tonight. It's Thursday already?"
"Apparently."
"Oh yeah, definitely," I said coughing. "You?"
"No, probably not."
"Oh c'mon," I said. "You totally should. It could be fun."
"Maybe." She shrugged.
Just then, Lauren and Emily passed me by and giggled, looking back at me with contemptuous expressions. Okay, that's it—they're going down.
"All right, back to running," I said, giving Mackenzie a salute and racing off.
As I quickened my pace, I began to think about my mom and me jogging together. It had been such a peaceful jog. Why did I always turn running into such a terrible experience? All I needed to do was give myself a comfortable pace.
While maintaining my swift jog, I then started to reflect on the first time I'd run around the track as Gwen. I'd been a hot mess then, and my overactive imagination had transported me into so many diverse characters. It was interesting; I was beginning to notice that my mind didn't daydream as much anymore. I was positive this body was rewiring my brain, but so were my experiences. Maybe fantasizing had been my escape from reality, but now that I was living one, I didn't need to cling to my fantasies so desperately. I didn't need to be so snarky or comical to cope with the pain of having a fruitless life. Perhaps I was maturing.
Wow—there was something to be said about this running business. It was like a form of meditation that elicited insight. Okay, no—my lungs were still filled with phlegm, and I wanted to die.
As I looked up, I realized I was on my last lap. Surprisingly, Emily and Lauren weren't far ahead. With determination, I began to sprint, making my heart pump faster than it had ever pumped before. All that was left was the straightaway, with Emily two feet away and Lauren ten feet. Letting out a cry, I pushed myself harder and dashed as fast as I could. My legs felt shaky, my chest tight, my heart like a grenade ready to explode. I passed Emily and continued faster, faster, faster, until—finish!
"Eight thirty-two," Mr. Kick called. "Good work, Johnson."
Eight minutes and thirty-two seconds? No, it wasn't possible—it was a mistake. There was no way I could have run that fast. I wanted to cry! From fifteen minutes to eight? I practically cut my time in half! So, the key was just to jog the majority of the time at a consistent pace? Well, why didn't anyone ever tell me that? I usually just sprinted and walked, sprinted and walked. Apparently that wasn't effective; it was better, healthier to keep a constant steady pace. I felt this somehow had symbolic importance in my life, but I didn't dwell on it for too long. I exited the track gate and sat on the bleachers with the rest of the fastest students.
"Okay, okay, good job everyone; head back to your numbers," Mr. Kick finally said once everyone completed the mile and was off the track. With enthusiasm, students began to stride back to the numbers.
"Hey, Johnson," Mr. Kick called, "I want to talk to you for a second."
"Yeah?" I said hesitantly.
"Any news from your cousin, Sarah?"
"Oh, um, yeah, about that . . . she's getting much better."
"Do you know when she'll be back? I haven't received any notice from her parents or the school. Something seems suspicious."
"Oh no, believe me," I chortled, "nothing is suspicious. But it is a private matter. I will tell her mom to send a note to the school."
"Okay, good. Let me know when that comes in. You did a pretty good job running out there, by the way."
"Really?" I smiled.
"Oh yeah?" Mr. Kick grinned a little too excitedly. "It looked like you really knew what you were doing out there."
"Well, it is just running, I suppose." For some reason, things were feeling a little awkward now.
"Do you like to do it a lot? Run?"
"Do it? Run?" I repeated. What was he saying? He better not have been implying anything more.
"Yeah."
"No," I said clearing my throat. "No, I actually don't like to run."
"Oh. Well, maybe sometime you will change your mind," he winked. "Okay, let's catch up with the other students, shall we?"
At that moment, Mr. Kick patted my butt once, twice—then one of his fingers trailed up my butt crack before he released. My legs were walking, but I felt completely shocked, almost paralyzed. What just happened? Did something just happen? It had happened all too quickly.
Did Mr. Kick just slap my butt twice? Glide his finger up my buttocks? No—maybe it was an innocent gesture, like something he would do to a football player; he probably didn't mean it to be sexual. Had I imagined his finger trailing up my intergluteal cleft? My breathing began to race, and blood prickled my cheeks. A wave of revulsion ran through me like a swarm of black widow spiders. Had I just been inappropriately touched—molested? No, molestation was supposed to be worse, wasn't it? I swallowed the spit in my mouth. For some reason, I felt guilty. Maybe he'd thought I was being flirty and misread a signal. Maybe he hadn't touched me at all and the whole thing had been one of the delusional tricks my brain always played.
No! A voice shouted in my brain. He slapped your butt and stuck his finger in your crack! Period. He winked at you beforehand! He had never once touched Sarah, but he has touched Gwen on two occasions within a two-week period!
Maybe he'd been trying to be friendly because I was new. Maybe he hadn't even thought about it and it had been involuntary. I wondered whether I should just forget about it unless he tried something again.
No! The voice screamed louder. THIS IS NOT OKAY! Teachers aren't supposed to touch students' backsides. Before the incident, he made you feel awkward, left innuendos. It wasn't innocent; it was premeditated!
But what was I supposed to do? I couldn't tell anyone. And then I felt a wave of anger. No—I couldn't let part of my brain continue to make excuses for him. Whether it had been an accident or not, Mr. Kick should know that his actions had been inappropriate. Maybe if I'd been the old Sarah, I would have let it slide, but as Gwen, I'd experienced too much. I'd even scolded my brother at the dinner table for touching my ankle, which seemed pale in comparison now. I had to take action!
"Mr. Kick," I called in an intrepid voice. Mr. Kick turned around. "Don't ever touch my butt again. I am going to the office right now, and I don't want to be in your class anymore!"
For a brief second, Mr. Kick's eyes went wide with fear. That was my confirmation. He was guilty, and he knew it. Before he could say a word, I sprinted off.
"Johnson!" Mr. Kick yelled.
I didn't stop.
"Hey, Johnson!" Mr. Kick yelled louder, his tone angry, but I didn't look back; I just ran. I was now using the muscles in my backside to do what they'd been created for: running.
It took me about five minutes to get to the office. When I entered the air-conditioned room, I realized I was still dressed in my PE clothes, but I didn't care.
"Hello. What can I do for you?" said the woman behind the counter with a smile. Thankfully, the office was moderately empty.
"Hi," I said, panting. "My name is Gwenevere Johnson. My PE teacher is Mr. Kick. He just made me feel uncomfortable by inappropriately touching my backside, and I would like to be removed from his class."
The office secretary's eyes bulged. "Excuse me?"
I explained everything to the secretary—what Mr. Kick had said, what had happened. I didn't exaggerate anything or add feelings; I just stated the facts. Afterward, I stupidly added that I didn't want to cost him his job.
The secretary then handed me a sexual harassment form. "I don't think you have to worry about costing him his job. A higher authority will decide the appropriate course of action."
I nodded my head. Honestly, my words had been strangely truthful; I didn't necessarily want Mr. Kick to lose his job. I didn't know whether he had a wife or kids. I didn't want to ruin his life, but I certainly never wanted to see his grinning face ever again—that nasty smirk. Suddenly, I felt dizzy. Why did I feel that this was going to land me into a lot of trouble and come back to bite me? What if he tried to sue me?! I had no money!
No, calm down. One step at a time—slow, constant pace.
21. THE GRAY DANCE
"Now Sar—Gwen," my mother said as soon as Ben walked into the room. "I want you to remember to not be out too late tonight; it's a school night, remember. And did you give me Chia's number?"
"Yes, Moth—Aunt Pam. I wrote it on a piece of paper and left it on the kitchen counter, remember?"
"Are you giving each other space names?" said Ben. "Can I be Darth Ben?" Then his eyes went wide as he beheld me in all my glory: waved hair, makeup, heels, and the lavender dress Stephanie had given me.
"Scram, Benjamin," I said. Without blinking his eyes, Ben took two steps backward.
"Ugh. You know what?" I said with a sigh. "Give me a hug, Ben. I'm sorry I'm always so snappy to you." A smile formed on Ben's freckled face and he greedily raced toward me like a starved puppy.
"No—stop! I changed my mind," I held up both hands. "Don't come any closer." Ben stopped mid-sprint. "I decided I don't want your groping chest-hands, like Angelo's, feeling up my boobs."
"Gwen," said my mother in a disapproving tone. I eyed my mother. What was she "Gwen"-ing me about? Saying the word boobs?
"Oh, fine. Come here, Ben," I said at last, and Ben walked forward like a confused, skittish fawn entering an open field to face poachers. No—fawn was too cute to describe Ben; a skittish bear cub was more accurate. As Ben drew near, I pushed out my butt, sunk my chest in, and wrapped my arms around the little squirt's back. I couldn't let him get too much enjoyment out of feeling me up, and I imagined from an outside perspective it probably looked like the most awkward hug ever. However, as soon as I released, Ben had the most massive grin I had ever seen on his preteen face. Ugh. Disgusting. He was infatuated for sure.
Just then, my dad stepped into the room and his head darted away immediately. "Er, have a good time Sar—Gwen," he said, staring at the wall.
"Thanks, Da—Uncle John." Clearly, he was avoiding all eye contact with me, but it wasn't like I was naked; the dress was relatively modest.
"Okay, why does everyone get a space name except me?"
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
"Okay, see ya guys."
"Do you have your pepper-spray?"
"Yes, Mother—Pam," I said, quickly exiting the door and bumping into Chia.
"Whoa, hey," she smiled. "Are you ready?"
"Yep. Let's pop this popsicle stand." Did I even say that right?
I inhaled deeply as Chia and I began walking across the dark student parking lot to the dance. I had never been to a dance before, partially because I'd always been too nervous that I would be a wallflower and that nobody would dance with me. Then there was the other reason—that nobody had ever invited me or encouraged me to go. I'd never even been asked to prom.
"Whoa, hey, how are you foxy looking ladies doing?" a couple of guys howled, making catcalls in our direction.
Just then, Terrell's ginormous figure ran up to us. "Sorry, I left my phone in the car," he said with a laugh. As soon as Terrell appeared, the guys stopped gawking at us and hurried off to the gymnasium.
"Is everything all right?" Terrell asked innocently.
"Oh yes," I smiled. "Everything is all right."
By the time we arrived at the dance doors, I'd discovered that there was a five-dollar entrance fee. For what? Did it cost them money to pay for chaperones? I wondered. It was okay, though. I had my purse with me and, thankfully, was able to scavenge up five dollars exactly. I couldn't ask Chia to pay for everything, and I still owed her.
As soon as we entered, my eyes went wide; the whole gymnasium was dim and packed with bodies. Had half of the school decided to show up? And worse, the room was hot and sweaty like a sauna!
Chia, Terrell, and I pushed through the crowd, unsure of where to go but hoping that in the middle of the dance floor we would find familiar faces. I saw faces I recognized, but none were the people that I wanted to find. The music was pretty loud as well, so it was kind of hard to hear what Chia and Terrell were saying.
Is this a school dance or a dance club? Sweaty students were all over each other, pressing their bodies against one another and making suggestive movements. These were the kids I went to school with? Boy, it was official: I was a prude.
"Let's just dance here," Chia shouted, and she began to throw her hands in the air and shake her hips. I tried to imitate what she was doing, but somehow she made it look cooler. I, on the other hand, probably looked like a smiling ostrich that needed to urinate.
"Hey, I'll be right back," Terrell said suddenly. "My sister's calling; I'm going to see where she's at."
"Okay," Chia nodded, and she and I continued to dance. Well, she danced and I poorly mirrored everything. Ugh, why did I wear these high heels? They were killing me, but at least they made me tall enough to see over most heads. Just then, I felt a body press up against my back and butt. I whirled around, and a guy was smiling at me.
"Do you want to dance?" he said.
"Ew, no—I don't even know you!" The guy looked offended then disappeared into the crowd. Was that socially acceptable? Was it okay for guys to touch girls' backsides unannounced? Had I wrongfully accused Mr. Kick? Suddenly, I felt foolish and almost too disenchanted to dance at all; I wanted to escape and cry. Maybe I really was just a prude.
My gaze darted to the exits, but suddenly, my eyes widened and my mouth fell open. Ten feet away from me, I spotted Clyde. In front of him was Ashley Smith, the nice girl in my first-period class who, on my first day as Gwen, had taken me to chemistry. She had her butt in Clyde's crotch and they were dancing together.
At that moment, I felt faint and numb; I could barely even hear the music anymore. Clyde? With her? And he was dancing with her like that? Just then, Clyde turned, and he and another girl began to rub all over each other. It felt like someone had stabbed me in the heart. No, Clyde wouldn't do that. He's special, magical!
Then, bizarrely, I didn't feel special or magical anymore. This was it. This was the real world, and it was not like my fantasy dreams with princes, knights, and chivalry. Boys were just boys, and girls were just girls, and this is what they did. I was the odd one, the goody-goody with unrealistic expectations. A surge of sorrow pushed up my throat; I was going to start crying soon. I'd really liked him for so long, and then I laughed to myself. I was the real hypocrite all along—thinking I deserved three magnificent boys but that they couldn't go for anyone else.
I had to leave. This was all wrong; my world was falling apart. All I ever thought I knew was flushing down the toilet. All this time, I had been so naïve.
I tore off through the crowd, being bumped and touched from every direction. All my life, I had yearned for touch, enjoyed being touched. But now, I did not want anyone or anything to touch me and, ironically, it was now the thing I couldn't escape. Finally, I managed to find an open area of space near the doors. That's when I saw Renna, Tanaya, and Ellie. They were all staring with glum expressions. I almost wanted to let out a loud cry of relief; these were friends, my old friends, and they were not participating. These were my real people, standing on the sidelines separated from the world.
"Gwen," Tanaya said, her face brightening up. I ran to her immediately and gave her a big hug. Next, I released her and hugged Renna, then Ellie. This touch felt good; this touch was right, wholesome.
Renna and Ellie looked at me with shocked expressions, but then they smiled.
"Is everything all right?" Tanaya asked.
In my peripheral, I caught a glimpse of Clyde. Was he coming toward me? How would I respond? But, then I saw Clyde exit the dance. Randomly, I felt the compulsion to talk to him. At the same time, he was the last person I wanted to face.
"I'll be right back," I said to Tanaya and, reluctantly, I rushed to the doors that were cracked open. Just as I reached them, I heard a guy's voice and froze.
"Hey, Clyde," the voice said. "Why did you decide to leave the dance floor?"
"Uh, I was feeling a little too hot. I needed some fresh air," said Clyde.
"Yeah, I bet. It looked like every girl was wanting you," said the other guy.
Clyde snickered. "Nah, man. We're just all having fun."
My stomach tightened.
"Yeah, lots of girls, but none your type, right? You're probably waiting for that hot Gwen girl, huh?"
"Well, to be honest," Clyde said, and my ear pressed hard against the door, "Gwen is beautiful, but she's not exactly my type. I'm actually more into Latinas and Black girls. You know, darker skin, big booties, chest, black hair. And I kind of like a little shorter, too. But Gwen—I mean, her face is literally perfect. How could any guy not be attracted to her? But I don't know, man; I think Brent really likes her a lot—like, a lot—so I've been trying to give him his space. Not get too much in his way."
"Hah, oh yeah, right, you're a good man, dawg, a real good man. You got any cool plans this summer?"
I couldn't listen anymore, utterly stunned by everything I'd heard. I wasn't even sure how to feel anymore: depressed, relieved, sad, disappointed, happy, proud, or numb. I mostly felt confusion, experiencing all the emotions as if they were a million colors of paint. When they were all mixed together, they almost made a gray color. That's how I now felt—gray, neither light nor dark.
Maybe most things in life are gray. People weren't just good or just bad; they contained pigments of both light and dark. Was Clyde a bad guy for dancing with all of those girls? Or was he a good guy for remaining somewhat humble and being loyal to a friend? Was it his fault that, biologically, Gwen wasn't exactly his type? Clyde definitely wasn't the innocent Prince Charming I imagined, but maybe he wasn't exactly a villainy playboy, either. Oh, gosh—this revelation was too much to handle. I would leave right now if he weren't right outside. Maybe I would just walk back to Tanaya and the girls; they probably felt as glum as I did right now.
